


Cuidado

by maschh



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maschh/pseuds/maschh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an old prompt at LJ's footballkink. Cristiano is injured because of how hard he's been pushing himself recently, so Kaka takes him home and worships his body to teach him to respect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuidado

It's his hamstring. Well, really, it's his groin. Truth be told, his Achilles isn't great either. And then there are the shin splints he's had since forever, but they go on and off...  
  
But playing is playing, and scoring is scoring, and if watching the ball make the net ripple and quake when it sinks inside isn't worth all the aches and pains, he doesn't know what is. So he starts every game in the league.  
  
He laughs at Mou when he tell him to take it easy. He replies that there's no other coach in the world that says that to their player and expects them to do so. (Mou shrugs because he doesn't ever listen to what Cristiano says, not really.)  
  
Despite everything, he scores more goals than anyone on his team can believe. (Not more than _he_ can believe, though. He's long since stopped believing in luck or fate. He's the best because he works the hardest, and that's always been true.) He makes up for Kaka when he's injured for the first half of the season. He makes up for Gonzalo when he fucks up his back for God knows how long. He makes up for all of it without complaining, and always hungry for more. Because that's who he is.  
  
He's refilling his water bottle during training, feeling his muscles sigh in relief. He doesn't even notice when Kaka comes up to the cooler next to him.  
  
“Hey,” he says. Cris marvels at the fact that he always seems to be smiling.  
  
“Hey,” Cris replies. He's usually happier to see him, but today he can barely string a sentence together. Everything hurts.  
  
“That bad, huh?”  
  
“What?” Can he read minds?  
  
“Something's hurting, isn't it? You've been making that face—” Kaka imitates him, scrunching up his eyes in a grimace— “all day. Is it your hamstring again?”  
  
“Oh.” Cris tries to laugh. “No, it's just—nothing.”  
  
“It's harder in the cold,” Kaka says, as if he hadn't spoken. “To keep your muscles warm...and loose.”  
  
“Yeah,” Cris nods, trying not to concentrate on how those words flow off Kaka's tongue.  
  
“They tighten up fast.” They start walking back towards the others. As they get nearer, he leaves Cris with the words, “Just take it easy, okay?”  
  
~~~  
  
The night gets colder and more bitter, and the fear that he might draw blood from his lip from the way he's biting it is becoming a very real one. Mou is cranky because of the weather, so he only barks louder and more frequently. Kaka lingers near Cris, a look of concern on his face, just at the corner of Cris's eye, but of course whenever they make eye contact it's never there. He doesn't know if he's imagining it. He doesn't want to think about it.  
  
In the end, it's only the slightest slip, a little roll of his ankle, but it's enough to land him on the ground and this time he has trouble getting up. Mou runs over because it's always these little injuries, the ones that don't look like anything, that are the worst. Also because Cris doesn't dive in training.  
  
Mou is asking him questions about the pain but to be honest, he can't even process it yet. But when he tries to get up, it hits him like a wave – old aches mixed with new ones and even a few stings. He stumbles a bit (Cristiano Ronaldo never stumbles), but he immediately feels a couple of bodies behind him making sure he doesn't fall. Mou is somewhere in between looking at him worriedly and throwing a death glare at Carvalho, the person nearest to Cris when he fell. He might see the funny side of that if he could even think right now.  
  
“I got him,” he hears someone say, and then he hears Mou mumbling a reply. A firm arm wraps around his shoulders, and then he's limping off the field, back inside. He quickly realizes as he sits down on the bench that his savior is Kaka and takes some painkillers from his friend's outstretched hand.  
  
“What happened?” asks the Brazilian. It's probably not for the first time.  
  
“I—I dunno. I think I broke.” He laughs a little.  
  
Kaka tsks. “I told you to take it easy.”  
  
Cris shrugs and Kaka nods knowingly.  
  
“You have to sometimes,” Kaka says sagely. And then, as an afterthought, “I don't know if those will be enough, actually. Maybe you'd better come back to mine. I'll give you something.”  
  
Cris can't find it in himself to refuse.  
  
~~~  
  
He's only been to Kaka's once before, but the house is bigger and emptier than he remembers. There are baby toys everywhere, staring at him from windowsills and strewn all over the floor.  
  
“Where's Carol?” he asks masochistically.  
  
“Sevilla for the weekend. With friends,” Kaka murmurs as he leads him to the kitchen. He sounds like his mind is elsewhere. “She's got Luca with her.”  
  
“No nanny?” Cris says. He's not sure if he's joking. Kaka just gives him a look like _are you kidding?_ and offers to help him sit down. Cris protests adamantly, but in the end it's hard to do it without grimacing. Kaka watches him warily anyway and only when Cris looks up at him again does he go toward the cupboard to look for pills.  
  
“How much do you usually take?”  
  
“I don't know, 600 milligrams of ibuprofen? It doesn't usually hurt this much.”  
  
“Hmm... I think I'm gonna give you something a little stronger.”  
  
“Not what you took after your surgery?”  
  
Kaka actually laughs as he pulls out the bottle. “No, no, somewhere in between. Don't worry.”  
  
Cris downs the pills without much of a second glance, realizing somewhere on the way down how much and how intimately he trusts Kaka.  
  
“Thanks,” he murmurs, not used to the feeling. Kaka nods, his mind already elsewhere.  
  
“You can lie down if you want. Come here,” he says, before Cris can refuse. Slowly, Kaka leads him up the stairs, offering to help numerous times, until they reach the master bedroom.  
  
“Oh no, no, no,” Cris says immediately, drawing back as quickly as his body will allow. “I can't – do you have a guest room?”  
  
Kaka is offended. “What? You don't want to stay here?”  
  
“No, it's very nice—” and it is, wide and spacious, with soothing peach walls and an enormous, comfortable-looking bed— “but I can't stay in your bedroom. Yours and Carol's,” he adds, unsure of what point he's trying to get across.  
  
“Please,” Kaka says. “You don't even have to sleep. Just lie down.” He sits on the bed, frees up the covers for him. “Don't – I'm your host, I want you to. Please.”  
  
Slowly Cris limps over, because if nothing else, it's hurting to stand up for so long. He sets himself down, and his body is immediately grateful.  
  
“Good, no?” Kaka smiles. He can read Cris like a book. Cris nods hesitantly, the guilt still on the surface. Just on the surface, though. Below that he thinks this might be pretty close to perfection. He closes his eyes and relaxes every muscle he has, lets himself sink into the bed. “Do you want to go to sleep?” Kaka asks.  
  
“No, stay,” Cris blurts, and when Kaka replies “Okay,” he can hear the smile in his voice.  
  
“Have the painkillers kicked in yet?” Kaka asks after a while. Cris shrugs, opens his eyes. “Where does it hurt?”  
  
“Achilles,” Cris tells him, “Shin splints. Hamstring. Groin.”  
  
“Wow,” Kaka says with a sad smile. “Almost everything.”  
  
“Not quite.”  
  
“Well, it's enough,” Kaka concedes. “You've got to be more careful.”  
  
Cris shakes his head. “Who cares? As long as I'm scoring.”  
  
“ _I_ care,” Kaka says. “And you should too. You're stuck with this body for long after you stop playing football,” he continues, running a hand up Cris's calf. Goosebumps appear on his arms at the contact. He hopes they haven't spread to his legs too.  
  
“It doesn't matter,” Cris says, because he thinks it'll keep Kaka's hand, now just below his knee, there longer.  
  
“Of course it matters,” Kaka insists, running his thumb gently over Cris's knee. “You've got to keep this beautiful body for as long as you can. You can't ruin it.”  
  
But Cris is a few words behind, still stuck on Kaka's last comment.  
  
“You think so?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You think I'm beautiful?”  
  
Kaka laughs, genuinely and kindly, letting the sound spread through this throat. “Cristiano... who _doesn't_ think you're beautiful?” He leans down and kisses Cris's ankle, glancing up at his face momentarily to gauge the reaction. When he sees nothing more than pleasant surprise, he takes his chances and goes higher and higher up his calf to his knee. Cris closes his eyes, a little smile on his lips. Kaka bravely continues, sighing into the back of his knee and taking his time to caress every inch of Cris's knee with his lips.  
  
“Please,” Cris hisses, almost unaware that he's said it. Kaka reaches up to the waistband of Cris's shorts, pulling them down slowly. He's half-hard in his briefs, and Kaka smiles at the sight. Cris sits up a little bit so Kaka can pull off his jersey as well, and it's a bit odd, Cris just wearing briefs and Kaka fully clothed, but it works, and Cris doesn't mind, so.  
  
He takes his time, kissing higher and higher on one of Cris's thighs and caressing the other with his fingers, especially the back, where his hamstring is. He gets closer to his groin and rubs his face against his briefs, right next to his bulge. “You have to be more careful,” he purrs, and it's not exactly what Cris would imagine him saying, but. It's probably true. He kisses all around the edges of his underwear, reveling in it, murmuring things like “perfect” and “care” and “need.”   
  
Finally he edges the briefs down a few inches (because teasing is hard on the body too) and takes him in his mouth, and Cris is fully hard now, moaning and arching.  
  
Kaka pushes him down gently, and keeps sucking, lapping around the sides, watching Cris's face. Cris's hand finds its way to the back of his head, and he's only slightly alarmed. He lets Cris push his head forward, fucking his mouth, till his eyes tear, because he knows he's the one that should be doing the work.  
  
“Please – God – Kaka – I – ” And finally the release comes, into Kaka's mouth and he swallows nearly all of it. Cris collapses again, sated, on the bed, his eyes closed.  
  
“Thank you,” he says after a while, opening his eyes drowsily.  
  
“Thank _you_ ,” Kaka echoes, watching Cris pull his briefs back up. “You should sleep now. Call me if you need anything.”  
  
“Oh, I will,” Cris says cheekily (he can't help himself). “Good night.”  
  
“Night,” he replies, closing the door.  
  
~~~  
  
When Cris wakes up a few hours later, he's not as achy as before, but everything is still a little hazy.  
  
He eventually limps downstairs and finds Kaka sitting at the kitchen table, his face shielded by his hands, in mid-prayer. Cris waits, clears his throat after Kaka's finished.  
  
“Ah, Cris!” Kaka smiles, standing up, clearly delighted to see him. “How are you?”  
  
“Better, I think.” Cris smiles too. “A little better.”  
  
“Just remember to stretch and ice,” Kaka says, and then, as an afterthought, “You know, I can help you with that.”  
  
“Could you?” Cris asks, a gleam in his eye.


End file.
